


Bliss

by gallifreyanlibertea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyanlibertea/pseuds/gallifreyanlibertea
Summary: Alfred comes home to his tired mate and a wailing baby.





	Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> I was compiling all the fics I'd written this year and I realized I never put this on ao3.

“Babe, I’m home.”

Arthur’s face was scrunched into maternal determination as he wrangled the baby into what he deemed a more secure position in his arms.

A defiant wail. Chubby hands threw themselves out from under the pale pink blanket, one that Arthur had most probably spent forever tucking him into, judging by his defeated sigh.

As Alfred always said, Jones boys were peculiarly strong.

Arthur smiled. “Peter, love, look who’s home? It’s daddy! Daddy’s home!”

Peter was in no position to crane his neck, and Arthur certainly wasn’t in a position to heave that heavy little body up to meet its father’s eyes so Alfred would have to settle for a welcoming twitch of that little teeny baby toe.  

Arthur cooed to the swaddled lump on his lap, “Yes, it’s daddy! Yes it is,  _yes it is!”_

He then turned to his mate, clearing his throat back into a normal pitch, “How was work, sweetheart?”

It was comical, the voice Arthur would use with their baby. Alfred had been smacked on the arm rather viciously the last time he made fun of it, so he opted for a smirk in silence.

“Uneventful.” He let his bag slide off his shoulders, kicking his shoes off at the door before appearing at his husband’s side. His poor little husband, shoulders droopy, smile weary as he held Peter to his chest. “You look tired, Arthur want me to-?”

“It’s fine, I slept enough last night,” Arthur said, the dark circles under his eyes proving otherwise. Alfred had a set of his own. He’d once lovingly referred to them as the equivalent of matching tattoos.

Peter gurgled.

“What is it, baby?” Arthur rocked Peter in his arms with a frown, the expression pulling out into a pout as Peter fidgeted, back arching, legs flailing about.

“He’s probably uncomfortable.” Alfred offered, to which Arthur’s brows pulled together in worry, shifting his arms along with Peter’s movements. “Arthur, it’s okay-”

“Is he hurting?”

“Ar-”

“Shit, I think he’s going to cry,  _Alfred!”_

“Arthur-”

Arthur smelled like lemon when he was distressed. This meant that lately, the entire house did. The citrusy scent had Alfred crinkling his nose.

“Bugger, I just got him to stop fussing and-”

It was best to calm him down with a kiss.

Sure, Alfred’s work day had been rough. Sitting in a cubicle, thinking about his baby, his first born son, who could be having so many firsts with Alfred not there to see them- it was difficult, yes. Then, there was Arthur, the one getting to see all these firsts but nothing else, tearing at his hair to keep Peter quiet and happy. Losing sleep.

Alfred had it better, and Arthur, if anything, deserved a kiss.

Besides, Peter could sense Arthur’s distress, and now, as Arthur sighed into Alfred’s lips, the smell of roses permeated the living room.

Alfred pulled away with a peck on his mate’s slightly chapped lips, “Relax, kitten.”

He missed seeing the almost dreamy look on Arthur’s face after he’d been kissed. There was hardly any time for intimacy after a baby, so it was small pockets of time like these left for them to cherish, that is, before Peter started to screech again.

“Do you want to hold him?”

It was more of a cry for help than an offering, if Alfred read those weary lips correctly, so he nodded. Arthur, albeit hesitantly, passed the warm bundle to the hands of its father. Those shoulders sunk even lower in what was obviously relief and Alfred couldn’t help but smile.

That blonde, tiny head peeked out from the crook of Alfred’s shoulder and despite the weariness of that particular work day, the weariness of his beloved husband, and the weariness of life in general, he felt on top of the world.

And Arthur, his tired, grumpy, sometimes stubborn minx of a mate leaned his head against Alfred’s shoulder, blinking at Peter with heavy, adoring eyes.

Alfred had many definitions of bliss.

A good burger. Arthur smiling at him when Alfred carried the heavier grocery bags. When Arthur’s cheeks would turn pink and Alfred knew it was him making it happen. When he married his boyfriend a year ago, seeing him walk down the aisle with misty green eyes looking anywhere but at Alfred in fear of breaking down into tears. When he heard the gender of his first born for the first time, watching Arthur light up in excitement thinking of all the names their son could have. When he watched as his newborn closed its tiny hand around his finger, blinking up at him with its big blue eyes.

But this. The loves of his life- Peter, asleep, breath coming out in small puffs as he curled deeper into his blanket; and Arthur, nodding off beside him, nuzzling into Alfred’s shoulder with a snort he would later claim never to have made.

 _This_  was bliss.


End file.
